Dixieland
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: “A lotta honorable soldiers died waiting for you Brits to come, Lieutenant.” Trip, hallucinating the Civil War. Dialogue only.


Disclaimer: I do not own Trip, Malcolm or Phlox. This is just for fun.

Summary: "A lotta honorable soldiers died waiting for you Brits to come, Lieutenant." Trip, hallucinating the Civil War. Yes, you heard right. I got bored in history class. Dialogue only.

Note: Thanks to JadziaKathryn for correcting my timeline error! And for the sake of my pride, I would like to note that I did not confuse the date of the Civil War, I confused the date of the TV show! Hehe. But the error has been fixed.

_Dixieland_

_After Lincoln's first election, many southern states seceded from the USA to form the Confederate States of America. War broke out and at first, the south was confident. They expected France and Great Britain to come to their aid because of their profitable cotton trade. However, the Europeans never came to back them up, and as 1862 drew to a close, the Confederacy was losing hope…_

"Lieutenant. You're late."

"What's wrong with him, Doctor?"

"Where's your troops? How much ammo you bring?"

"He appears to be hallucinating. There are certain psychotropic compounds on the planet's surface. One must have infected him via his leg wound."

"We've been waitin' on you over a year now."

"What's he dreaming?"

" Did the French come too?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but it seems to have something to do with the 19th century American Civil War."

"Damn Europeans. Always moving on your own time."

"I think he's talking about me. Or to me."

"Well, you're here now and that's all that matters."

"Try and keep him calm. I need to fix his leg."

"I'll try. Yes, I'm here now. We came."

"I knew you'd come eventually. We've been waitin' on you."

"I'm sorry we took so long."

"'s all right, Lieutenant. We're starting to lose hope, thass all."

"Trip…"

"Please, Lieutenant. No first names on the battlefield…"

"Commander…"

"Commander? Hum. I wish. 'f I was a commander, I'da gotten your sorry European asses over here a year ago. 'd done it myself."

"Soldier. What year is it?"

"Well. Christmas was two weeks ago so that'd be eighteen-hundred and sixty-three, sir."

"Eighteen… Doctor, he thinks it's almost three centuries ago."

"Who you talkin' to?"

"Stay with him Lieutenant. I need him conscious for the antitoxin to work."

"Who's that?"

"That's a doctor, soldier. He's here to fix your leg."

"Looks funny. Where's he from?"

"Europe. He's from Northern Europe, soldier."

"Never seen a European like that 'fore."

"It doesn't matter, soldier. He's going to fix you."

"Mighty nice of him. Those Union bastards got some damn nice weapons. I don't even think it was a bullet hit me. More like a lighting strike. Blast of light… hit m' leg 'fore I would move. like summin from the future."

"That's crazy talk, soldier. You've… lost a lot of blood. You don't know what you're saying."

"I'm sorry I got hit… thought I was a better soldier 'n that…"

"You're a fabulous solider."

"What do you know, you damn Brit? You took forever to get here. General said you'd be here forever 'go. Said you couldn't live without our cotton. So you'd help us fight the damn Union. You know, a lotta honorable men died waitin' for you Brits to come, Lieutenant."

"I'm sorry, soldier. We should've been here sooner."

"Damn straight. You need our trade."

"We certainly do."

"Need our cotton."

"Yes."

"You need our cotton, Lieutenant."

"We need your cotton, Trip."

"Well… you're here now……"

"I think I'm losing him, Doctor!"

"The Con… federacy…'s grateful…"

"Tell him to stay with it. I'm almost finished."

"Stay _with_ me, soldier."

"Can't… stand…"

"That's all right. That's all right, Trip. The doctor is almost done."

"Can't feel… m' leg…"

"He's almost done.'"

"Will ya… hafta take it…?"

"No, no. No amputations, Trip."

" Ya promise?"

"I swear."

"Keep your word… better 'n las' time…?"

"I will."

"_Gahh_. If I don't… make it…"

"You'll make it, soldier."

"You tell… the General…"

"You'll make it."

"… went down fightin'…"

"_You'll make it_."

"No sorry… northern assholes… dragging _my_ state back ta the Union…"

"No indeed."

"Arhhh! That hurts…!"

"Stay with me, Trip. Don't you dare black out."

"'m sorry.."

"Trip!"

"Least… died fightin'…"

"Trip!"

"Made m'… family… proud…"

"_Trip_!"

"Soldier! I'm going to give you a hypodermic now. You're going to be fine. Hold his leg down, Lieutenant. This will stop the infection."

"Glad you're here… always… like the Brits, really…"

"There."

"It's done, Trip. Doctor, how long will it take?"

"He should be back to normal in a moment."

"His leg?"

"Will be fine. A week off duty. That's all."

"He's coming around!"

"Mal……"

"Trip."

"Wha…"

"You were hurt. You're fine now."

"What… hell… _happened_?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Something… 'bout cotton…"

"Later, Trip."

"You're here."

"I came."

"I…"

"The war is over, Trip."

"I… ahhh…"

"It's long over."


End file.
